Do you think all other birds,
Catching sight of hummingbirds,
Think at all—in human words,
“How’s that done?”—with other words?
BARCAROLA DI CARNEVALE
Let’s get stoned
And go to the Met
And look at Greek vases,
The ones glazed with jet.
In rapturous glee,
Make love and make war while
Their privates swing free.
In chignons austere,
Attend to the orgy
In robes de l’Empire.
The fetish du jour--
Displaying it all to
Voyeurs so demure.
With sibylline poise,
They know that the Fates will
Catch up with these boys.
Details which once, as clear as day,
Filled, like hymns, our house with light,
Now slither through the cushioned rooms
And drive us out into the night.
On every side conjectures call,
Squawking, raucous, out of key;
From crumbling dunes we cry “Halloa!”
To coax old chanties from the sea.
The ballad of the golden dog
Catty-cornering its yard
Comes gurgling through the milky foam.
(It’s such a strain to listen hard.)
Come come while I’m asleep darling nothing,
I’ll not stir nor breathe a sigh,
But only dream that finally nothing’s
Come to shut my inner eye.